


All Good Things & A Harpsichord

by shirogiku



Category: Black Sails
Genre: All The Love For Miranda, Domestic Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Nassau, Pre-Series, R.I.P Teacups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 22:23:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9518567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/pseuds/shirogiku
Summary: In loving memory of the teacups... *sob*





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mapped](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mapped/gifts), [DreamingPagan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingPagan/gifts).



When you find Captain Flint sitting in your office, looking furtive for the lack of a better word, there is only one conclusion you can come to, which is:

 

“Who the fuck is it this time?” Eleanor asked, not bothering to hide her exasperation. It had been one hell of a long day, and the last thing she needed was Flint’s guns blazing.

 

“Hmm?” He raised his head, almost as if he had forgotten where he was. “Beg your pardon?”

 

“Who.Did.You.Pick.A.Fight.With.” She sat down to study him from across the table. “And how many heads do you need pikes for?”

 

He stared at her. He seemed genuinely hurt that she should think so low of him, not that she could always read much in those infamous stares. “Well. I did threaten to break every bone in someone’s fingers if they dropped the crate,” he patted the item in question, “but other than that, I have been on my best behaviour, I swear.”

 

“Mr. Gates must be thrilled,” she replied dryly.

 

If she had believed it possible, she would have thought him… nervous. What was in that fucking crate, Chinese gunpowder rockets?

 

“You are half right,” Flint said, opening it almost tenderly. “It did come all the way from China. With a stop in London, mind,” With the same slow, careful deliberation that he usually reserved for books and nautical instruments, he placed a single cup and saucer on her desk. “What do you make of this? Your professional opinion, if you please.”

 

Did she want to know what poor smuggler he had caught red-handed? Or had he gone for a privateer?

 

She picked up the cup, studying its bottom. “ _Blanc de chine_ , London enameling.” The Boston Guthries had extensive interests in tea equipage. “No trouble finding buyers for this sort of thing, especially in such a condition. So what’s the problem here?”

 

“It is not for sale.” His jaw flexed like he had to force the words out: “It’s a… gift.”

 

Who the fuck would Flint be giving gifts to? _Oh_. “For your mystery woman?”

 

He nodded sheepishly. “I wanted to find her the blue and white one,” he said. “Or Imari. But anything should be better than heavy, unadorned earthenware, should it not?”

 

Eleanor imagined some hypothetical Bostonian aunt drinking tea from this. “She’ll like it.”

 

He got up to leave immediately.

 

“You must introduce us some day, though!” she called after him. “Now that you’re all set for a tea party.”

 

“I still need silver spoons,” came his reply.

 

What an odd, odd man Flint was.

 

* * *

 

 It wasn’t that James did not _trust_ the horse - he knew her better than anyone else did. Or that he hadn’t checked on the cart’s wheels a dozen times. It was that the roads here were pretty much nonexistent, and he was not taking any chances.

 

Gates was giving him the _look_ again. “Stop fidgeting, for Christ’s sake, you’re making _me_ nervous.”

 

“Is that the proper way to address your captain, Mr. Gates?”

 

Hal laughed. “Damn right it is, when he is acting like a cabin boy on his first cruise.”

 

A few more minutes passed, tense, with James’s ears attuned to the precious cargo.

 

“Alright, enough.” Gates pulled on the reins. “This is where you and your fidgets and myself part ways. Yes, you heard me the first time, Cap’n.” This was marooning on land! “Either you’re calming down right now, or you’re bloody well _walking_ the rest of the way.”

 

“I _am_ calm,” he strained out through gritted teeth. He would remember this.

 

What seemed like an eternity later, when they finally arrived, he asked Hal to wait for him outside, which led to a volley of completely unwarranted comments. What was the worst that could happen? Was he planning to be retreating in a hurry? Would the lady be throwing the tea things at James’s head?”

 

“Miranda would never do that!” he protested, indignantly.

 

“Well then what are you waiting for?”

 

When leaving London, Miranda had not had the chance to take her old finery with her. What if she did not _want_ porcelain anymore? What if it was too conspicuous? Everybody was tea-crazed in the colonies, but this was fucking Nassau. And worse yet, what if it made her homesick?

 

He was overthinking this. He had not given half as much thought to this whole house.

 

“James?” he heard Miranda ask. “Is there any particular reason you have been standing outside my door for the last five minutes?”

 

“How do you know it was five minutes and not six?” he parried, stepping inside.

 

She smiled at him. “I have a special sense of you being ridiculous, trust me.”

 

He busied himself with the crate, the look flickering across her face _not_ lost on him. “Why does everyone keep thinking it’s explosives?”

 

“Well, _you_ can be awfully predictable.”

 

“I shall pretend I haven’t heard that.” The entire Nassau had been mocking him today!

 

Black tea. No cream. Sugar from his previous cruise. A bowl of cracked nuts and… “Do you have apples? There should be apples.”

 

Miranda made a noncommittal noise, holding up a cup to the light. The painted decoration was perhaps simpler than he would have liked. But then again, he would not have wanted anything gaudy. Besides the cups and saucers, the tea set was complete with a covered sugar bowl, a container for cream or milk, a slow bowl, and a fat-bellied teapot.

 

“It’s lovely,” she finally breathed out.

 

“I’m glad,” he managed to say.

 

“Well.” She looked around. “Now we can invite all our friends by card.” He snorted, imagining that. “Treat them with all the good things and a harpsichord. Speaking of which, you seem to have forgotten to ask Mr. Gates in.”

 

He had done, hadn’t he?

 

He paused in the doorway. “Do you think…” He faltered. “When _he_ comes back… will he like it?”

 

“I’m sure Thomas will love it.”

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: since writing/posting this, I've seen, like, two or three different versions of what Miranda's Mystery Musical Instrument is, and it's kind of too late to go back an edit now, so apologies for the inaccuracy /slinks away


End file.
